The Glass Passenger
by Milk and Glass
Summary: Addison's hopes are dashed when she finds out that there's no hope for fertility. Through an autism study with Charlotte King, she meets a wonderful little boy named Evan, who shows her a different world and a different kind of love and care. Ship to come


"No fertility potential

"No fertility potential." Naomi gazes down at her file folder, her face staying the same. Impassive. Quiet. Unnaturally professional. And then she looks up and you suddenly want to kill her.

"Don't look at me."

"Addie, I –"

"Don't look at me like that. You HAVE a child." You hop off the table, knowing you're being unreasonable, but you're devastated and upset and your stomach feels like it's just dropped out of your body, and it's easier to take it out on someone who won't hit back, ever, because that's what best friends do and she's been through this with you before.

"Addison. You knew."

"I didn't know!" Your voice gets shrill and you try to tone it down. "I didn't know this time."

"But you knew last time." Naomi's eyes are now meltingly sympathetic, and you screw your fists up, wanting to hit something, or scream. Your rational self knows that you knew. You knew that these things don't often change, but isn't this supposed to be a land of miracles? Beautiful people who turn their lives around and you were sure that this time there'd be a chance.

So when you take your screwed-up fists and drive them harshly into your eyes, trying to stop the tears that make you human from spilling over, Naomi doesn't say anything, let alone "I told you so".

She simply wraps her warm arms around you and lets you cry on your shoulder before you come back to reality, and your senses, and the fact that you're an adult with a job and patients to take care of.

"I'm sorry," you begin, your voice foggy and soft, but Naomi just holds you, like you were Maya – like you'd hold a disappointed child of your own, because losing your dream hurts, even if you knew there wasn't much of a chance of it ever happening.

"I love you," she whispers, and you nod against her shoulder, knowing it to be true, and realizing that for now, it's enough to have a best friend who loves you through all your moods.

"I love you, too."

/

The morning meeting is full of the grumbles, the scowls, the scent of coffee and the annoyance of bickering. Violet and Cooper can never stop – one's a morning person and the other isn't, and that means that the clashes are frequent and repetitive. With the news that you've received this morning, you're not really in the mood for their little spats about arbitrary things. You sit slumped over your wheatgrass shake (which happily, you'd exchange for vodka right now) and stare down at your notes. This status meeting is really unnecessary – you're just going over to the hospital to meet with Charlotte King about a genetics study, and everyone knows it, anyway.

Sam shoots you a concerned look as he slides into his chair, a moment later than Naomi would have liked, but he doesn't say anything and for that, you're glad. Maybe later, when the workday is done and when the sun's dropped below the water skyline, you'll explain the disappointment over a strong domestic beer, but for now, he knows to let it be, and you're grateful for that.

"Okay, so I've got three patients today, and I'm going over to help Addison and Charlotte King with a genetics study this afternoon," announces Cooper, and Naomi nods.

"Okay, so you and Addison are out this afternoon. Vi?"

"I'm free for most of the morning. This afternoon I have some child therapy sessions. What is with every kid these days being so screwed up?"

"It's the twenty-first century," quips Pete. "Their parents are trying to find a better way to raise them, and screwing them up in the process. Stick with what you know. Some people just shouldn't have children."

You bang your glass on the table. "And some people would give their freaking EYETEETH to even be able to conceive, all right? I'm amazed you would say that when you know that this practice practically specializes in trying to help people who can't conceive get pregnant."

"Chill, Addison," Nae whispers, grabbing your hand under the table. "Just chill out."

Pete looks gobsmacked. "Okay, then. What am I supposed to say? Everyone deserves children?"

"I'm not getting into this debate."

"And I haven't had my turn yet!" Sam practically shouts, trying to diffuse the situation. Naomi nods at him to go ahead while glaring simultaneously at Pete and you. If there's anything you know about her, it's that she hates it when her meetings are interrupted by petty fights.

You fiddle with one of your silver rings as Sam details his day, and aren't surprised when Pete leans over, putting a hand on your arm.

"Are you okay?"

"Shut up. Sam's talking."

"Look at me, Addison."

As Sam points at a chart, you quietly avert your eyes from Pete's hand and stare fixedly at the chart until he pinches you a little, forcing you to look at him.

"Ow! What?" Your voice is a harsh whisper, and out of the corner of your eye, you notice Naomi raise her head, so you tone it down.

"What's wrong?" His voice is a low rumble, and you shake your head.

"Not here. And not now. Come on."

"If you need to talk . . ."

"I'll talk to Violet. Now shut up before we get yelled at."

"This isn't school," he grumbles, but sits back in his chair. When the meeting ends, he hangs back as you gather your dishes to put in the kitchen.

"Seriously, Addie, if you need to talk . . ."

"You don't get to call me that. And I don't need to talk, okay?" Your voice is harsher than you intend, and you avert your eyes from the hurt on his face. You and you alone know what it's costing him to reach out, and you suddenly feel bad.

"Look, Pete, we're not together anymore, okay? So you don't get to ask me this stuff. You don't get to . . . care."

"Yeah, well. You can't turn feelings off like a tap, Addison. And you don't get to be a bitch just because it didn't work out."

You suddenly throw up your hands. "Don't ruin my morning more with this shit, okay? I can't take it right now. If you want to talk, you can make an appointment. I'm done."

The elevator can't come fast enough. You jab at it angrily as Cooper catches up.

"Ready to face the tiger?" he quips, and you grimace.

"No, but she's got to be better than here, this morning."

Cooper grimaces back. "Need a drink?"

"Yeah. Lunchtime should definitely be liquid."

He rubs your shoulders as you both get on the elevator. "I hear ya."

/

Charlotte King's flat voice grates on your head, but she's surprisingly animated this morning, which is odd, considering that she leads a busy doctor's life and probably doesn't get a lot of sleep. In fact, you can tell when she's having insomnia – she's a little more jittery, a little harder to keep focused. It's like she gets a temporary case of ADD.

Today, though, she's calm. "So, we're dealing with a study group of ten children, all with different stages of autism and neurological disorders. Five boys, and five girls. Montgomery's been brought in to study the genes, and Cooper's here to study the children's medical history and that of their parents."

"So where are the kids?" You're bored already, and hate yourself for not being more interested in the well-being of these children.

"We've got their medical histories here, but we'll have to go to the centre to get blood samples. The parents have agreed to bring their children there this afternoon. It's a centre for autism – and one I volunteer at when I get the time."

You look at her with renewed interest. "Where do you get the time to volunteer, King?"

She fiddles with her briefcase, packing a few papers into it, keeping her head down. "Well, I had a brother who I'm pretty sure was autistic, so I'm trying to give back, I guess." Her voice is light, but there's an edge there that warns you not to ask any more questions.

Cooper, however, doesn't seem to notice the tone. "Was autistic? It's not something you just stop being."

"Well, you do if you kill yourself." Now Charlotte sounds annoyed, and Cooper shuts up, shrugging into his jacket.

"Let's go down to the centre, I guess?" His voice is tentative, and Charlotte shoots him a look.

"You're not forgiven, Freedman. But yes, we're due down there at one, so, let's get a move on."

You take Charlotte's car down to the centre and within five minutes, you wish you had Dramamine.

"Can you slow down? Lord," you snap, your voice made more cutting by the fact that you're really wishing that the green wheatgrass smoothie you had this morning won't end up decorating your delicate white blouse.

Charlotte simply grins. "Can't handle it, Montgomery?"

"Charlotte, I'm going to be sick back here," says Cooper flatly. "I don't think a freaking Formula One driver could handle it."

"You two are babies," she grumbles, but drops the speed. As you roll up outside of the Santa Monica YMCA, Charlotte's actually driving like a normal person.

The autism centre takes place in the preschool, which lets out at noon. The children there are given a school curriculum tailored more towards their needs, and activities that will allow them to learn and keep busy. When you come into the room, the first thing you're struck by is the noise.

Little children are everywhere. They are in different stages of development and age. You do a quick headcount and place the youngest at about two, the oldest at about eighteen. The workers are trying to get them to sit down, but this is proving to be hard – at least one little boy is openly screaming, while two others are in tears. A little girl is sitting in the corner, rocking and handflapping.

You look at Charlotte. "Any ideas on how we're going to get blood from these kids?"

She looks shocked and doesn't reply. You turn to Cooper. "Well?"

"I've got minimal experience with autistic kids," he confesses, looking confused.

Charlotte scoffs. "That's comforting."

"Well!" His voice raises a little and a little boy close to him starts to shriek. He quickly lowers his voice. "I'm not sure how to help them."

The helpless feeling. It's something you've felt before as a doctor, but never quite as strongly as you feel now.

But a miraculous thing seems to be happening – the children participating in the study are sitting quietly in chairs. One holds a book, while another twirls a straw. Cooper doesn't wait – he swings right in, and you follow his lead.

Taking blood isn't hard. It can be hard when it's on tiny veins with wriggly kids. But these children are sufficiently distracted enough for you to get what you need, and in no time, you've got ten vials of blood, and no one is crying.

Charlotte's staring at the workers respectfully. "These people are amazing. Amazing."

"Yeah," you say, looking at the children. "I've never seen kids calm down so quickly."

"It's not easy," says one of the workers. "They have their good days and bad days. It helps when they have parents who are willing to work with them, too."

"Some of them don't?"

"Well, some are foster kids. They come here because of state funds. That little boy there, for instance." She points at a tiny Asian boy twirling a straw wrapper. "He stays with a foster family. He's not really improving."

"Is he severely autistic?" asks Cooper.

"Well, testing's been minimal. They're not sure it is autism, although he presents as such. He was abandoned at birth, bounced around the system. I'm sure you know how it is."

Charlotte's face is white. "Yeah."

You kneel down beside him and pick up the straw wrapper, which he's dropped for something else. "What's his name?"

"Evan. He's five."

He's sitting, staring into space, but you speak to him anyway. "Hi, Evan."

He doesn't look at you, but he moves his hand onto your knee for a moment, before removing it and murmuring.

You get caught up with his expressions – he doesn't talk, but he's living in his own little world. Several minutes go by before you hear Charlotte's voice.

"Montgomery. Let's go!"

You come to yourself. "Right."

As you leave the building, you suddenly realize Charlotte's attachment. "It gets into you."

Charlotte, normally one to shrug off comments like that, nods. "Yeah. It does. Those kids . . ."

"I wonder if there will ever be a way to reach them."

Charlotte's face sets.

"That's what we're going to find out."


End file.
